


Late In The Lounge

by Britpacker



Series: Making It Real [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Risk-taking, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-27
Packaged: 2018-03-26 02:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3832870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Britpacker/pseuds/Britpacker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All he'd been after was a last cup of tea before turning in. PWP</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late In The Lounge

**Author's Note:**

> Continuing my one-off series of smutty vignettes. Another transfer from www.fiction.enstcommunity.org.
> 
> Sentences in italics represent a character's thoughts.

“Ain’t that a beautiful sight?”

“Mmmm, lovely.” Crossing the observation lounge Malcolm moved in to rest his sharp chin on his lover’s shoulder, linking his arms around the trim waist. With a sigh Trip tilted his head, mutely offering the sensitive side of his neck to the Brit’s mouth.

“And getting lovelier,” Reed murmured, taking full advantage of his partner’s generosity.

It was late. The Captain, T’Pol and Hoshi were somewhere on the small green-and-blue planet Trip had been admiring, doing their diplomatic stuff while Enterprise hung in the lee of a ghostly ice moon under the stewardship of her Chief Engineer and Armoury Officer.

Or, Malcolm conceded, at that precise moment of her pilot since Travis, ever eager for some time in the boss’s seat, had volunteered to take the night watch on his own.

Archer wouldn’t mind; he liked to indulge the lad’s delusions of authority. T’Pol might raise a disapproving eyebrow, but would never deign to voice her displeasure. And Hoshi – well, she was their subordinate. A hopeless, starry-eyed drooling romantic subordinate where he and Trip were concerned.

The Southerner’s sigh whispered through the room and his head lolled further, exposing more tender skin to tongue and teeth. Absently Malcolm began to stroke his way across the washboard stomach, hating the layers of standard issue Starfleet fabric between him and the taut muscles he could feel contract beneath his palm. He hadn’t come here with seduction in mind – just a last quiet cup of tea before turning in. But then, he hadn’t expected to find Acting-Captain Tucker planet-watching in the eerie blue-white light of the wintry moon, either.

And now he had, well… it was hardly his fault the man was irresistible.

Ever since their adventure in the armoury a few weeks back, vivid sexual images had reared to torment the Englishman at the most inopportune moments. Short turbolift journeys in his partner’s company had become torture beyond anything the Suliban could conceive of, and had Captain Archer not been a witness to their last decon cycle he didn’t dare imagine how badly he might have forgotten himself. Finding his man alone in a room filled with small tables, high-backed chairs and, best of all, large, deep-cushioned couches was simply too great a temptation. He was only human, after all.

Thus reassured of his own sanity Malcolm returned his full attention to Charles Tucker the Third’s scrumptious neck, giving his wandering hand formal permission to take care of itself.

A moment later he received gratifying evidence of how much initiative his abandoned limb could show. Either the acting Captain had taken extreme security measures to protect his favourite hyperspanner or he was as attuned to the romantic potential of their position as his acting First Officer.

Somehow Malcolm couldn’t imagine his lackadaisical beloved suddenly getting careful of even his most prized possessions. He gave the bulge in the man’s trousers a firmer stroke, the lips he still pressed against Trip's tasty neck curving involuntarily at Tucker’s gasp. “Moonlight becomes you, Mistah Tuckah,” he mouthed.

“Darlin’, we shouldn’t...”

Red rags to bulls, Malcolm decided. “Shouldn’t what, Commander?” he purred, dropping his voice to a husky growl as he slithered to the front, bathing himself in the moon’s mysterious glow. “Shouldn’t touch? Shouldn’t kiss? Sorry Sir – I’ll expect an insubordination charge.”

_Damn, he’s beautiful._

The icy moonlight turning his creamy complexion to flawless alabaster, pooling beneath his cheekbones and making his dilated pupils gleam jet black, Tucker thought his lover might have been some ancient sculptor’s masterpiece save for the faintest rise and fall of his chest. The only sound was the faint whisper of material against muscle as they breathed, the silence another skein of magic to weave its way around them. Trip sighed, drawing his partner into his arms and letting the warm, faintly woodsy scent of the man seep through to his soul. “I could stay like this all night,” he rumbled.

“Bit of a waste, don’t you think?” With a sly smile, the Brit ground his hips, pressing his erection against the taller man’s. Twin groans fractured the quiet night.

And suddenly mild flirtation was not enough. Trip’s hips surged against Malcolm’s, his mouth descending to ravage the smaller man’s, the unwanted burden of temporary command blotted out of his head. Reed’s delighted chortle shimmered against his tongue. Wrapped up in sensation, he was oblivious to their shuffling backward momentum from the viewport until he felt himself falling and, with a strangled yelp, dragged his mouth clear.

“It’s all right, love.” Yes, he had ended up exactly where his devious darling had intended Trip guessed, trying to ignore the erotic prickling down his spine at the thought. Sprawled out over a couch lit as if by a spotlight from the brilliant blue-white moon, his jumpsuit unzipped to the crotch – and how had the sneaky little Limey devil managed that? – with his penis straining against the confines of his too-tight boxers until Malcolm took pity and released it into his eager hand. “You don’t have to play captain any more.”

“But you like it when I do.” It was as if the light spilling over his aroused body had penetrated Tucker’s lust-fogged brain. “You love it when I’m in command, dontcha, Lieutenant? Gets y’ all hot an’ bothered to be takin’ your orders from me.”

The smile that curved his companion’s narrow lips chilled and excited all at once. “ _Busted_ , I think you’d say. But you’re off-duty now, Sir.”

Which was, Trip considered, just as well, since with his dick in the capable hand of a subordinate and his hips arching off the sofa he couldn’t have articulated an order beyond a guttural _“Gimme more!”_ , and that wasn’t exactly Starfleet standard, no matter how often his tormentor made him repeat it.

“Tut-tut, Sir, that sounds _highly_ unprofessional.” With his free hand Reed wrenched down his own zipper and yanked out his equally impressive arousal, breath escaping in a shaky hiss as it jumped to his careless touch. “And keep the noise down, will you?

“Aaah, darlin’!” Much as he liked giving up command, following orders had always been something of a trial, Malcolm mused, to the free-spirited Floridian. Sucking both lips into his mouth to stop his chuckle, he crossed his arms over his chest, tilted his head and stooped, huffing a damp breath across Trip’s glistening cockhead.

“But you’re too polite to talk with your mouth full, aren’t you?” he cooed, drawing the rich, musky scent of the man deep into his lungs. Giving no time for an answer he straddled the startled engineer’s length, shuffling his knees until he was perfectly placed to dip down and flutter his tongue across the blond’s leaking slit.

The reaction was immediate, and sufficiently violent to demand a swift tactical retreat. Inch by tortuous inch, Reed arranged himself atop his squirming lover, biting his lips to control his own moan when a superheated breath cascaded down his rock-hard shaft. Fingers bit deep into the sturdy blue fabric still hanging off his hips and the wet tip of a talented tongue flicked around his balls before one tender sphere was drawn deep into ecstasy’s cavern. His eyelids drooping, he wrapped his lips around the tip of his lover’s cock, pressing his tongue against the ultra sensitive spot below the mushroom shaped head.

Tucker’s shudder passed right through to his bones. With a blissful sigh he relaxed his throat, letting the familiar pulsing length slide until his lips were locked at the base, tickled by the coarseness of blond pubic curls. _Better than anything on Chef’s pretentious Gala Dinner menus!_

Trip’s delighted mew hummed through his similarly captured penis. Gently, balancing his bodyweight as best as he could, the smaller man began to lick and scrape his way up the underside, counting every powerful pulse of blood through the thick vein marking his path. He was vaguely aware of Trip matching his movements, feathering hot arrows of sensation out with the light scratch of his teeth. By way of sweet punishment, he gulped the Southerner’s entire length down once more, braced in readiness for the automatic bronco-buck of the long body beneath him.

Muffled sighs and the loose, wet sounds of suction resounded through the shadows beyond moonlight’s pool as they found a lazy rhythm of mutual licks and pulls, rank and duty forgotten. Pleasure circulated from mouth to cock and back, an endless cycle of white-hot sensation that intensified by the moment. Reed’s fingers bit into the couch’s cushions; Tucker’s hands clenched on his lover’s thighs. Enterprise was dissolving. Neither man cared.

Far too soon Malcolm felt it: the tightening in his groin and the painful swell of liquid fire along his length, holding him teetering on the brink a glorious moment before the flame burst out to engulf him, twisting his body in great spasms of bliss as Trip’s seed flooded his mouth and he swallowed on instinct, drinking down the bitter fluid while being tossed on his lover’s convulsing frame. He clung on blindly, lost in a sea of brilliant sparks, until the colours began to fade, his body began to soften, and his universe faded to velvet black.

Reluctantly Tucker released the flaccid member from his mouth, letting it slide limp against his glistening lips while the ship righted itself around him. Languidly he slid his hands to caress the flawless globes of his boyfriend’s ass, marvelling hazily at their marble perfection in a puddle of ghostly light. The younger man’s nose brushed his balls, long, level breaths enveloping the tender spheres, and a soft smile broke across the Southerner’s handsome face.

Something about this particular act always left Mal completely wiped. Gently he massaged the pert butt cheeks, his heart softening to the same state as his flopping dick at the contented snuffling sounds the affectionate circling motion elicited. “Malcolm? Darlin’, we gotta get up.”

“Hmmppf.”

“Baby, did you lock the door?”

“Mmmmm.”

Reed’s lean form shuffled slightly, seeking out a more comfortable position. Another deep sigh ruffled Tucker’s pubic hair.

A raised voice echoed in the hall outside.

“Dammit, Malcolm, we have to move!”

“Wha’?” Panic resonated where gentleness had not, bringing a ruffled dark head up and leaving Trip’s crotch suddenly chilled by the kiss of regulated air. Hazy grey eyes surveyed their surroundings, the computations of an uncharacteristically sluggish brain clearly visible in their depths. “Shit! The door!”

“Easy darlin’.” He wasn’t exactly clear-headed himself, Trip realised when his attempt to steady Malcolm’s clumsy scrabble upright only helped knock the man halfway across the lounge with his cock still hanging outside his shorts. Tucking himself in hastily he had to bite off a snicker at the incongruity of their position; the two most senior officers on board tiptoeing around the higher-ranking staff’s sanctuary in the middle of the night, desperately trying to look like they hadn’t just sucked each other off on the captain’s favourite couch.

The voices passed by. Malcolm’s hand dropped from the locking mechanism to scrub through his wildly disordered hair. “I must be losing my touch, leaving the door unlocked,” he grumbled, wrinkling his patrician nose.

“Heck, ah’m just irresistible darlin’.”

The joke might have been mistimed – a thought that flashed across Trip Tucker’s mind a nanosecond too late to prevent it tripping off his loose tongue – but it earned him a sardonic half-smile and the offer of a slightly shaky hand. “It’s your modesty that gets me,” Reed returned lightly, reaching up for a brush of the lips. Tucker shrugged.

“An’ there I was thinkin’ it was my incredible body…”

“Or your dead sexy voice.” Head on one side, the lieutenant nodded to himself, satisfied the immediate danger of discovery was past. “That was a bit close, though.”

Tiny aftershocks raced through Trip. Resolutely he ignored them. “The risk’s part of the thrill, Malcolm,” he said, pleased by the rational tone. Reed’s mouth twitched.

“With you my love, only a very small part,” he pledged, his heart lurching at the expression of awed delight that suffused the taller man’s even features. “Ready for bed?”

“Guess so.” He glanced back at the couch, satisfying himself in a glance that no residue from their encounter had leaked onto Jon’s pristine cushions. “Y’alright?”

“Bit wobbly.” And he had to be less than fully cognisant to admit that. Wiping the smug grin off his face with a mammoth effort, Trip wrapped a steadying arm around his darling’s shoulders before guiding him out of the lounge and across to the waiting turbolift. Sex in public places was a forbidden thrill he’d never expected Mr Prim and Proper to indulge in, but there was a lot to be said for restricting themselves to private quarters off-shift.

He felt Malcolm’s heated gaze raking his face, and the smile broke free. Something told him he’d have plenty of opportunity to try out that theory before the night was over.


End file.
